Not Here to Make Friends

If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at reality dating shows, suspecting the drama is more scripted than spontaneous, you’ll find a kindred spirit in Jodi McAlister’s “Not Here to Make Friends.” This third entry in the "Marry Me, Juliet" series peels back the curtain on the production of a reality dating show, but with a twist: the behind-the-scenes mess is as juicy as the on-screen antics.

At the heart of the story is Murray O’Connell, the showrunner who prides himself on controlling every little detail of the latest season of “Marry Me, Juliet.” He’s the guy who keeps the chaos in check—or tries to. Enter Lily Fireball, the network’s designated villain for the season, who is anything but a team player. She’s loud, unapologetically dramatic, and not shy about stirring the pot. But here’s the kicker: Lily Fireball is actually Lily Ong, Murray’s estranged best friend and former co-showrunner. Their reunion is less "old pals catch up" and more "how did we get here?"

The novel thrives on the tension between these two characters, who are forced to navigate their rocky personal history while juggling the demands of a high-stakes reality TV production. You get the sense that every smile, every snide comment, and every manipulated moment of drama is a battleground where authenticity and performance collide. McAlister doesn’t just show you the glitzy, edited final product; she drags you through the messy, ethically murky process of making reality TV "real."

What’s refreshing here is the book’s refusal to glamorize the genre. Instead, it takes a sharp, witty look at the absurdity of reality TV tropes and the emotional toll on everyone involved—especially the people behind the camera. The alternating perspectives between Murray and Lily offer a layered view of their evolving relationship, making it clear that the lines between friend, foe, and showbiz puppet are blurrier than we like to admit.

Stylistically, McAlister’s writing is a cocktail of sharp humor and genuine emotional beats. It’s not all snark and eye-rolls; there’s real vulnerability beneath the surface. The pace is brisk, which suits the frantic energy of a reality show set, but the characters get enough breathing room to feel like actual people, not just caricatures.

That said, if you’re deeply familiar with reality TV clichés, some plot points might feel a bit predictable or recycled. The "villain" trope is well-trodden territory, and the tension between the ex-friends-turned-rivals isn’t exactly groundbreaking. But McAlister’s strength lies in how she uses these familiar elements to explore bigger questions about authenticity, friendship, and the personal cost of public spectacle.

Ultimately, “Not Here to Make Friends” isn’t just a romance. It’s a sly commentary on the media we consume and the messy human stories behind it. It’s about the cost of putting on a show—literally and figuratively—and what happens when old wounds get dragged into the spotlight. If you want a rom-com that knows its way around a reality TV set and isn’t afraid to get a little messy, this one’s worth your time.